


Unexpected Conversations

by flibbertygigget



Series: An Unexpected Universe [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ADD/ADHD Harry Potter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:59:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17340752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: Or: June 1991. How not to be a father figure.





	1. Vernon Dursley & Dudley Dursley

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Des conversations inattendues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364686) by [Matteic_FR (Matteic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matteic/pseuds/Matteic_FR)



> First off, an apology. This was originally going to be three chapters, featuring conversations between Harry and Dudley, Vernon and Severus, and Severus and Dumbledore. But then I realized that I wanted the Harry and Dudley conversation to happen later in the day, and _then_ Dudley and Vernon kind of got away from me. So instead there's going to be four chapters, and the Harry and Dudley conversation will happen in the third chapter. Sorry to anyone who I've given a different impression to.
> 
> Secondly, we're finally getting close to canon territory! The questions that I've gotten about Dumbledore, Voldemort, and the spy stuff will start to be answered in this fic. After these four chapters and one more oneshot, it's off to Hogwarts for Harry! I hope to write one fic per Hogwarts year, though I'm still waffling on some of the details on the style front.
> 
> Third, there may be delays in the next few chapters, since my next semester of college starts up soon in addition to me having a full time job. I'll do my best, but please be patient.
> 
> Finally, you may have noticed that this series now has a French translation by the lovely Matteic! I'm seriously so flattered!

Contrary to the opinion of everyone from his secretary to his ex-wife, Vernon Dursley wasn’t a bad man.

Oh, he had his fair share of issues. His temper could flare up at the slightest provocation, and he ate far more than he ought. He had a bone-deep, instinctive mistrust towards anything unusual, from magic to immigrants to wearing brown shoes with a black suit. He couldn’t keep a girl – well, no, that wasn’t quite right. They hardly ever broke up with him. He used work as an excuse, but the truth was that he was terrified.

Terrified of them seeing his nephew and discovering that he was connected to one of those weirdos, no matter how tenuously. Terrified of them eventually looking at him and feeling the same disgust he sometimes felt towards himself. Terrified of one day discovering that their disgust, his and Petunia’s and everyone else’s, was completely justified.

And to make matters worse, he was losing his son as well.

Vernon sat down across from Dudley, bringing an unusually plain meal with him. When he had a girl, she could make their lunches something special, something worthy of the evocative phrase “Sunday roast.” Hell, Vernon could almost taste the roast potatoes and buttered peas, the tender beef and fluffy Yorkshire puddings, every bit of the meal drowned in delicious gravy. He always tried to have a girlfriend to make the Sunday roast, for normalcy’s sake, for Dudley, but this week he had failed. Hence the dry, grey-looking chicken and over-boiled sprouts.

Not that Dudley seemed care or even notice the difference. Or maybe he did and was using his silence as a way of punishing his inadequate father. That was the one tactic that Vernon really found insufferable – he would have preferred it if Dudley had yelled or hit or done anything to prove he was a man and not a mouse. But no, Dudley didn’t seem to care. Someone had turned the boy into a bloody swot, and the boy seemed more interested in the book on his lap than the food on his plate. Vernon cleared his throat, and Dudley jumped a little, startled out of his reading.

“So,” Vernon said, “are you planning on going out for football? Smeltings has a cracking team, or at least they did in my day.” Dudley shrugged.

“I dunno,” he said.

“Oh, come on, you have to have more of an answer than that,” Vernon said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“I dunno,” Dudley said again. “I don’t like football much. Harry’s the one who’s always running around like a nutter.”

“Don’t like football?” Vernon could feel frustration welling up in him sluggishly. This wasn’t the way this conversation was supposed to go. “What do you like then? Rugby?”

“No. Uncle Sev says that I’m good at cutting things though. Maybe I’ll take up fencing.” Vernon snorted.

“Smeltings Academy,” he said proudly, “doesn’t have fencing, and I wouldn’t want it to. It’s the kind of sport that would only appeal a bunch of posh blighters who think they’re better than the rest of us because at one point they were given a title.” Dudley grinned at him, and for a moment Vernon felt a rush of satisfaction. Dudley’s next words brought that all crashing down.

“Uncle Sev would probably agree with that, but he says that he’s not sending me to a school with less than fifty percent A*s on their exams. Then I try to tell him I’m not that smart and Mum tries to tell him that we can’t afford the fees even if I’m a day student instead of a boarder and he gets grumpy and goes to complain to Professor Minerva or Aunt – I mean, or _Professor_ Charity.” Vernon could feel his face going red as his fury mounted, until he was ready to flip the table when Dudley’s little speech ended.

“Are you telling me,” he said, trying to force his voice into something resembling calm, “that Petunia isn’t just shacking up with that – that _arsehole_ , but she’s also letting him poison you with your aunt’s rot?” Dudley didn’t look cowed in the slightest.

“Mum and Uncle Sev aren’t dating,” he said. “She likes Kevin from Accounting, I think. Half her work stories involve him anyways. And Professor Charity’s one of Uncle Sev’s friends. It’s just a coincidence that she and Aunt Marge are together.”

“Just a coincidence,” Vernon said, seething. “Of course. Just like it’s ‘just a coincidence’ that your mother’s been living with her so-called friend since she walked out on me. Just like it’s ‘just a coincidence’ that the blighter’s got the same disease as Petunia’s sister and the rest of that lot. Just like it’s ‘just a coincidence’ that they turned you against your own bloody father the moment they had a chance!” Dudley’s jaw was clenched tight, and Vernon couldn’t squash down the guilt when he saw the fear in the boy’s eyes.

“Dad-“

“Never mind,” Vernon said, dropping his gaze back to his horribly inadequate plate. “Never mind. You just tell your,” he swallowed bitterly, “your _uncle_ that I want you going to Smeltings, and that’s final.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?” Vernon was about to snap about disrespect when he realized that Dudley was asking his question with genuine curiosity.

“Why would I be the one to discuss it? I barely even know him.”

“Well, I don’t really care much where I go,” Dudley said. “You and him both care, though. Maybe if you guys talked, you’d be able to figure it out and not hate each other so much.”

“I don’t hate Snape,” Vernon said lamely. “I just… I think he’s a bit of a weirdo and I don’t want you around him, Dudders.”

“It’s a bit too late for that, I reckon,” Dudley snorted. “Look, Dad, I’m almost eleven. That’s practically an adult. I think I can decide for myself who’s alright and who’s not, and Uncle Sev’s been alright for almost as long as I can remember.”

“Even with the,” Vernon gestured vaguely, “the magic bull?” Dudley looked like he was trying desperately not to roll his eyes.

“It’s just magic, Dad,” he said. “It’s just something Uncle Sev and Harry _have_ , you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Vernon said. “I don’t understand how you can bear living with – well, with people like that. Especially since Snape must love lording the idea that your cousin has magic and you don’t over you.”

“Not really,” Dudley said with a shrug. “I mean, Harry likes sports. Uncle Sev and I don’t. I like helping Uncle Sev with potions and Harry doesn’t. The only reason I’d even want magic is because I kind of wish I could be a Potions Master when I grow up. Instead, I think I’m gonna be a chemist.”

“Is that what the book’s about?” Vernon grunted. Dudley’s smile was blinding, and it made something ache inside of Vernon. Getting his son to smile, really smile, was a rare thing these days.

“Sort of,” Dudley said. “It’s actually about what potions ingredients do before and after magic and how some ingredients have innate magic and some don’t. Uncle Sev found it in the secondhand shop in Diagon Alley and got it for me.”

“Huh,” Vernon said. Part of him wanted to rail against Dudley’s enthusiasm, against the way that the boy was willing to reject their normal world in favor of Snape’s strange one. Part of him wanted to steal his son away from all that dangerous nonsense, and part of him wanted to throw Dudley out and return to a time when things made sense.

But Vernon Dursley was not a bad man. He wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a bad man. So instead of upending the table or calling his custody lawyer or any of the myriad things that he was tempted to do, Vernon Dursley sat and listened to his son spouting ridiculous fairy tales until there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Dudley said, jumping up from his place before Vernon could argue. Vernon heard the door open and his son’s excited squeal. “Uncle Sev! Why’re you here and not Mum?” Vernon felt his stomach clench.

“Dudley, why don’t you go play outside for a few minutes,” Snape said. “I have something that I need to discuss with your father.”


	2. Severus Snape & Vernon Dursley

Severus stepped into Vernon Dursley’s kitchen cautiously. To anyone else, the sight of an incredibly beefy man sitting over the bombed-out remains of his meal would not have been intimidating, but Severus knew better. No matter how much he wished it was otherwise, Vernon Dursley had more or less the final say as to where Dudley would go for school, and that meant that Severus would have to proceed with extreme caution. He couldn’t risk offending the man, not now.

“Well?” the oaf grunted. “What do _you_ want?” Severus gritted his teeth, pushing down his instinctively sarcastic retort. Everything about the Muggle irritated him.

Vernon Dursley was, in Severus’s opinion, practically the definition of middle-class dunderheadedness. He was poor enough to be jealous and moneygrubbing and yet rich enough to be smug and self-righteous. He was small-minded enough to possess every prejudice in the book and yet worldly enough to think that he was free of them. Severus knew plenty of people like Dursley, and he hated each and every one of them. He was lucky that they all hated him first, on principle, or else he might have felt that the festering resentment he’d inherited from his father was unjustified. But he couldn’t allow that resentment to spoil this meeting, not when it was Dudley’s education that was on the line.

“I’m here to speak with you about where your son will be going next school year,” Severus said. Dursley’s piggish eyes narrowed in a way that the oaf probably thought was intimidating.

“Yes, Dudley told me that you were sticking your oar in where it doesn’t belong,” Dursley said. “Well, I’ve already told Dudders this, so I might as well tell you. I want him sent to Smeltings, and you won’t see a penny out of me any other way.” Severus sighed internally. It was going to be one of _those_ conversations then. Silly of him to think that this might be easy.

“Very well,” he said. “I was going to take your preferences into account, but I suppose that I can do this myself.” Dursley’s face flushed slightly, either from anger or from the exertion of thinking for once in his life.

“I’m his father! My word is the only one that matters here.”

“And yet, it isn’t,” Severus said lightly. “Mr. Dursley, do you wish to see your options?”

“My options?”

“For your son’s education.” Severus didn’t wait for Dursley’s answer. He sat down in the seat that Dudley had abandoned, bringing out a manila folder and restoring it to its original size wandlessly. Dursley flinched at the sudden display of magic, but Severus couldn’t bring himself to care. “Now, Petunia and I took the liberty of sending applications to half a dozen schools that we agreed were both sufficiently academic and sufficiently affordable. Of those, Dudley was accepted into Kimbolton School, Chigwell School, St. Peter’s, and Chase Academy.” Dursley’s eyes widened.

“Kimbolton? St. Peter’s? But those are – those are posh as all hell! How did you manage to even get your applications looked at?” Severus smirked, pleased that the Muggle seemed to be considering his options.

“Being a professor at one of the oldest magical schools in the world has its perks, not the least of which is access to friends in high places,” he said. “In addition, all of these schools have boarding costs of less than £10,000 a year.”

“That’s a bit more than Smeltings,” Dursley muttered.

“Not if we split it,” Severus said. “It will depend a bit upon the school, of course, but-“

“But you’re just a teacher!” Severus glared at the interruption. He may not have _enjoyed_ his job, but he had his pride. Dursley seemed to realize what he’d implied, and he had the decency to look a bit ashamed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… Well, I don’t suppose you make much,” he finished lamely.

“I make enough,” Severus snapped. Dursley looked unconvinced. “I make 4,000 Galleons a year, which is around £20,000 before taxes. Hogwarts tuition is only 50 Galleons after the Ministry does its part, and with both the boys boarding our other expenses will go down. It will be fine.”

“It would be even better if you just let Dudley go to Smeltings.”

“Is that what this is about?” Severus sighed. “Dursley, I’m not going to send one of the boys to the best wizarding school in Europe while giving the other a mediocre education. I’m just not going to let it happen. You can either help me, or you can get out of my way.”

“You won’t be able to afford to send him to these places without me.”

“I’ll manage,” Severus said. “I have a bit saved up, and Petunia works enough that she can make up some of the difference. I would hope, however, that you’d have enough sense to put your son above your bloody pride.” Dursley was silent for a moment, stroking his mustache thoughtfully.

“And what will happen if I let you get your way?”

“Pardon?”

“If I let you send him to one of your choices, what will you give me in return?” Severus rolled his eyes.

“I would have hoped that the pleasure of seeing your son succeed would be enough,” he said. “Obviously I overestimated you.”

“I want more time with him. Every weekend instead of every other, plus either the Christmas or Easter holiday spent with me.”

“I have nothing to do with your custody agreement,” Severus said. “You’ll have to talk with Petunia.”

“She won’t talk to me, not even when she’s picking Dudley up or dropping him off. Please, Snape. At least make her give me a chance.” Severus sighed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but feel a little pity for Dursley.

“If I talk to her about renegotiating with you, will you accept whatever school your son chooses?”

“Fine,” Dursley said. “Just… make sure that you tell him that Smeltings is an option, alright?”

“If you insist,” Severus said. He took one of the pieces of paper from the folder. Unlike the others, which had information about the schools that Dudley had been able to get into, this one was blank. “I’ll want this in writing, just so you know. I don’t want any… difficulties.” Dursley sighed.

“I suppose that’s reasonable enough,” he said, dashing down the terms of their agreement and signing the paper with a flourish. After making sure that everything was in exactly the order he wanted it, Severus put his own signature down and made a copy of the paper with a tap of his wand. This time Dursley didn’t flinch. For a moment they sat in awkward silence. Severus turned over the words he was tempted to say, wondering whether he could risk them. In the end, he had to. He couldn’t leave this to chance.

“Dudley cares about you, you know,” he said finally. “He gets frustrated, sometimes, that you are such different people, but he does care about you.”

“Of course he does. He’s my son, isn’t he?” Dursley said, his pride clear in his voice.

“Yes,” Severus said. “And Harry… he hardly remembers living with you. If you were to reach out, he would be glad to hear you out. Really, the only obstacle to reconnecting with your family would be Petunia. She can hold a grudge to kingdom come, and, well, you did do something terrible, something that destroyed her trust in you. If there is any hope of reconciliation, you would have to be the one to make the first move, _and_ you would have to be prepared to take her anger humbly.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dursley said. Severus studied his face carefully. While the other man’s expression was mostly just confused, he thought that he could detect some guilt there. Good.

“Just advice,” he lied, "from one abominably foolish man to another.” He swept out of the kitchen before Dursley could say anything more. Dudley was out in the front yard playing, just as Severus had ordered him.

“Hi, Uncle Sev,” the boy said. “Can we go home now?” Severus shook himself from his thoughts.

“Of course, Dudley,” he said, forcing a smile. “I have to warn you, though, that I have a meeting tonight. You and Harry will have to take care of yourselves for about an hour before Petunia gets off work. Is that alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Dudley said. Severus sighed.

“No reason,” he said softly. “No reason at all.”


	3. Harry Potter & Dudley Dursley

Harry was bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored, _bored_. He wanted to go to the park and play footy with the Muggle kids who sometimes hung out there, but he wasn’t allowed if Uncle Sev and Aunt Petunia both weren’t home. Aunt Petunia was still at work, and Uncle Sev had only stopped by to drop Dudley off and then left again, muttering about arseholes who couldn’t give more than two hours’ notice. Dudley had been more interested in his book than anything else, so Harry hadn’t _wanted_ to bug him, but a whole half hour of doing absolutely nothing was Harry’s breaking point.

“Hey, Dudley,” he said, flopping down on the couch next to his cousin. Dudley looked up from the book.

“Hey,” he said. Harry kicked his legs against the arm of the couch.

“You wanna do something?”

“Like what?” Harry shrugged.

“We could harvest ingredients,” he said.

“We’re not supposed to do that without Uncle Sev,” Dudley said. “Besides, you’re so bad at it that you’d probably mangle the mugwort again.” Harry pressed his lips together like Professor Minerva sometimes did when people were being unreasonable, but he knew that Dudley was right.

“But I’m _bored_ ,” he said. Dudley rolled his eyes and went back to his book. Harry flipped over onto his stomach, trying to quell a surge of envy. Dudley was good at wizard things, even though he didn’t have the slightest bit of magic himself. He was good at cutting up ingredients and understood complicated magical theory. Harry wasn’t good at anything magical except for riding a broomstick, and he could only do that when they went on holiday to somewhere remote enough.

“Hey, Dudley,” he said. Dudley didn’t bother looking up from the book this time. “Dud- _ley_.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Do you think I’ll ever be as good at magic as you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dudley said, sounding like Uncle Sev at his most scolding. “Magic’s not something that you can learn from a book. You have it; I don’t. What’s learned is how much you can harness what you’ve already got.”

“Fine. Do you think I’ll ever be as good at _harnessing_ magic as you?”

“Again, I don’t _have_ it. Although there is a theory that magic is in everyone, and the difference between wizards and Muggles is that wizards have more of it. But the only people who think that are those who think that magic is the same thing as a soul.”

“Do you wish you had it?” Dudley shrugged.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have magic,” Harry confessed. Dudley blinked, baffled.

“Why wouldn’t you want magic?” he said. Harry played with a loose thread on his jeans.

“I’m not good at it,” he said. “Besides, wizards don’t have footy, and I’m going to play for Manchester United when I grow up.”

“Maybe you could play Quidditch instead,” Dudley suggested.

“Maybe,” Harry said doubtfully. “Still, I bet that Uncle Sev would be happier if you were a wizard and I was a Muggle. He wouldn’t have to try and bash potions knowledge into my head then.”

“I mean, he’d still probably try,” Dudley said. “But seriously, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Aunt Charity told me that she wasn’t any good at potions when she was in school.”

“Well, _she_ never had an Uncle Sev,” Harry grumbled.

“You’re really bothered by this, aren’t you?” Dudley said. Harry nodded. “Look, even Uncle Sev says that you’re good at making potions when you concentrate. Just try not to get distracted and you’ll be fine.”

“But I _always_ get distracted,” Harry said. “If I’m moving around I’m alright, but you can’t take your eyes off a potion for a second, not even to pee.”

“There are other things you can do with magic besides potions,” Dudley said. “You’ll probably end up being really good at Transfiguration or something.”

“I’ll still be rubbish at Potions, though,” Harry said. “And everyone will look at me and wonder how I went so wrong when I have Uncle Sev.”

“You think you have it bad,” Dudley said. “Imagine how I feel. Uncle Sev pulled a lot of strings to get my school applications looked at, and now if I fail it’ll look like he was some kind of delusional posh guy.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’re not going to fail,” he said.

“They’re some of the best schools in the country-“

“So? You’re the smartest person I know besides Uncle Sev and maybe Professor Minerva, and they don’t count because they’re adults.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know that many people. I’m not Stephen Hawking or Cleopatra Cottle. I’m just me.”

“Well, you’re just ten-“

“Almost eleven.”

“Almost eleven,” Harry said agreeably, “so you have time to catch up. Trust me, by the time you’re a grown up you’ll be way smarter than Stephen Hawking.”

“Do you even know who Stephen Hawking is?” Dudley asked.

“Um… a smart guy?” Harry squinted, thinking hard. “Isn’t he the one in the wheelchair?”

“Yes, he is,” Dudley said. “See, Harry, you can concentrate if you want to. You just have to take that from remembering theoretical physicists I’ve babbled to you about to remembering to keep stirring your potions.”

“But stirring is _boring_ ,” Harry said, aware that he sounded like he was whining. “Why can’t we just invent a spell that does all that for us?”

“Spells and potions can be very volatile when mixed,” Dudley said. “So you just don’t unless the potion calls for it.”

“That’s stupid,” Harry said.

“It’s one of Barker’s Laws of Cross-Discipline Witchcraft,” Dudley corrected. Harry rolled his eyes and was silent for a moment.

“What do you think Uncle Sev was called away for?” he asked. Dudley was usually better at guessing these kind of things.

“I don’t know,” Dudley said. “It’s only the beginning of June, so it can’t be about next year – or maybe it is. Maybe it’s about you.”

“Why would he have to have a meeting about me?”

“I mean, he is a professor. Maybe Professor Minerva’s worried about him favoring you.” Harry snorted.

“Well, she doesn’t have to worry about _that_ ,” he said. “Uncle Sev’s nice, but he’s tough about Potions.”

“Will it be weird having him as a teacher?” Dudley asked.

“It’ll be weird having to call him Professor Snape, that’s for sure,” Harry said. “Other than that, it’ll be like when he tries to teach me about Potions except you won’t be there to show off your perfect chopping.”

“I am good at chopping,” Dudley said. “Maybe I’ll become a chef.”

“What, and give Aunt Petunia one less thing to complain about? She loves talking about how us boys would starve without her! Not that I’m _that_ bad. I just get distracted and burn things sometimes.”

“I think that burning things counts as bad,” Dudley said. “I certainly wouldn’t eat anything you cooked.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t even bother trying. You’re the one who chops things-“

“If Uncle Sev can get away with being a Potions Master who doesn’t know what spices are, I can get away with chopping things and not cooking.”

“He says that he has the excuse of not be buz- bug-“

“Bourgeois?”

“Yeah, that.” Harry squirmed. “Dudley, I’m still bored.”

“Uncle Sev said he wouldn’t be long.”

“But I’m bored _now_.”

“Not my problem,” Dudley said. Harry rolled off the couch, landing with a thump.

“I’m going to see if the Goblin’s Ear has flowered yet,” he said.

“Suit yourself,” Dudley said, already distracted once again by his book. “I’m not the one who’s acting like not playing football for one day is the end of civilization.”


	4. Albus Dumbledore & Severus Snape

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, looked at the envelope one final time before slipping it into his desk. Less than a minute later, Severus came through his Floo.

“Headmaster,” Severus said. “You wished to see me?” Albus considered the young man for a moment. Anyone else would have sworn under oath that Severus was giving nothing away, but Albus knew him well enough to detect the tension there. It lived in his tight shoulders, in the overly formal way he held himself, and especially in the way that he wasn’t quite meeting Albus’s eyes.

“Of course,” Albus said. “Please, sit.” Severus sat, crossing one jean-clad leg over the other in a bid to appear comfortable. Albus wasn’t fooled. “So, Severus, how has your summer holiday been thus far?”

“Tolerable enough until you blundered in,” Severus said.

“Ah, yes, I must apologize for the short notice,” Albus said. Severus gave a nod of acknowledgement. “But, you see, I found myself in the possession of a rather curious bit of parchment.” In an instant, the young man’s every muscle tensed, his hands gripping the arms of the chair as though he wished to propel himself to his feet.

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with me,” he said.

“It has everything to do with you,” Albus said. He took the envelope from his desk and pushed it across the desk. Severus didn’t move, choosing instead to stare blankly at portrait of Armando Dippet that hung behind Albus. “Read it.” Severus shook his head.

“I assure you, Headmaster,” he said, “this has nothing – I am not involved with this.”

“Don’t lie to me, Severus,” Albus said softly. “I was supervising the Quill as it wrote the First Year letters. This envelope was addressed to a Mr. H. Potter, The Bedroom at the End of the Hall, 13 Spinner’s End, Cokeworth, Manchester.” Severus’s face was exceedingly pale, but Albus pressed on. “Curious, isn’t it, that The Boy Who Lived should end up in the very house in which you grew up. The very house, in fact, that I know you return to during your summer holidays.” Severus met Albus’s eyes for the first time since coming through the Floo.

“Why are you interrogating me about this?” he said. “Even if what you say is true, I have nothing to hide.”

“Then why have you hidden this from me?” Severus looked away from him again. “How long has this been going, Severus? A month? A year?” Severus shook his head, looking shamefaced for the first time.

“Six,” he said. “Six years.” Albus closed his eyes, finally understanding why the young man’s reactions had seemed so exaggerated. He had hoped that Harry living at that location had been strictly temporary, a small enough blip that it would hardly register in the boy’s mind. But six years… six years was enough to change anyone.

“This is beyond what I had ever imagined,” Albus said gravely. “What in Merlin’s name were you thinking?”

“I was – I was thinking-“ Severus set his jaw and sat a little straighter in his chair, all traces of embarrassment or shame gone. “I was thinking that Petunia Dursley came to my doorstep with two five-year-olds and the story of her husband abusing one of them.”

“Surely it wasn’t as bad as all that.” Severus rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be so naïve,” he spat. “You may think that the worst a family can be is cold and unloving, but I know better – or worse, as the case might be. I couldn’t turn them away.”

“That explains the beginning of it, but there’s no reason that they had to live with you for six years,” Albus said. Severus shrugged, his previous strength of conviction gone.

“It was _meant_ to be temporary,” he said. “But, well, time went on and they ended up staying.” Albus studied the man in front of him, and Severus squirmed a little under the scrutiny.

“You care for them,” Albus said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You do. You care for them.” Severus gave a jerky nod, and Albus felt a deep, horrible pang of sorrow. “Oh, Severus.”

“What else was I supposed to do? Dudley – he may be a Muggle, but he loves learning and magic more than most of the children I’ve had the displeasure of teaching. Petunia may be as, well, herself as ever, but she isn’t all bad. And Harry-“

“He’s more his mother than his father, isn’t he?”

“He’s not very much like either, actually,” Severus snapped. “He’s good on a broom, yes, but he’s got none of Potter’s ego or pettiness. He’s got L – Lily’s kindness, but he’s far more stubborn than she ever was. And he’s got something else, something that neither of them had. Maybe it’s just that he’s too curious for his own good.”

“You certainly think that you know him.”

“I’ve helped raise him for six years. I would hope that I’d know him.” Severus looked him in the eye again, and Albus could see the stubbornness in the younger man’s jaw. “I know what you’re going to say, Headmaster. I don’t regret making the decision that I did. I can’t.”

“Really? Not even when you know that you may have put our world in jeopardy?” Severus flinched.

“I can hide-“

“But can he?” Severus bristled defensively, but Albus couldn’t show him mercy now. “Severus, I told you the night that James and Lily died that Voldemort would return. You know the roles that you and Harry will be forced to play in the coming years. You cannot be both my spy and his guardian.”

“I thought I was always to be his guardian, considering that I was placed here to guard him.”

“But if it was a choice between your place here and your place by Voldemort’s side, we both know where I would order you to go. We both know where you are more valuable.” Severus didn’t answer. Albus leaned forward, willing the Potions Master to understand. “If your position as my spy is compromised, the forces that oppose Voldemort are as good as finished. In allowing Harry to live with you, you have compromised everything.”

“What else would you have had me do?”

“Ideally? You would have turned them away.”

“What, and invited your disgust again? Let’s keep ourselves to possibilities, _Headmaster_.” Severus sneered. “Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t have condemned me for doing as you suggest. You want to lead a war without casualties; you want to be a spymaster without condoning the actions of a spy. You want us all to be as bright and shiny as you’ve convinced yourself you are, and then you turn around and tell me that I’ve endangered your precious war.” Albus wanted to shake his head, to refute Severus’s accusations and show the young man how morally and ethically consistent his worldview was, but Albus wasn’t a fool. He knew that he was guilty of everything Severus had said and more.

“What you’ve said changes nothing,” he said instead. “You are still necessary in order to defeat Voldemort once he returns, and you still cannot do that with things being as they are.” Severus shook his head, smiling slightly.

“You’re too late,” he said. “What would you have me do now? The boy has been raised, more or less. You cannot undo the past six years.” Albus sighed. Severus had promised to do anything for him, all those years ago. He had never thought that holding the boy to his word would be like this.

“You will have to hurt him,” Albus said. The smile slid off Severus’s face, leaving behind a look of horrified shock.

“… What?” the boy whispered.

“Hurt him. Emotionally or physically, it doesn’t much matter. Just hurt him so that he will never forgive you, so that he spends the rest of your life cursing your name.” Albus forced himself to look Severus in the eye. Severus had no shields up now, his pain and betrayal on full display. “Hurt him to save him.”

Severus was silent for a very long moment, trembling, looking as though he didn’t know whether to deny the truth or break Albus’s nose.

“And if I do this,” Severus said slowly, “they will be safe? All of them?”

“They will never be safe until Voldemort is defeated,” Albus said gently, “but he will never be defeated unless you destroy any traces of your relationship with Harry Potter.” Severus stood, looking strangely vulnerable without his usual black robes.

“Give me a week,” he said, and then he disappeared through the Floo in a whirl of green sparks.

Albus picked up the envelope once again, toying with the corner. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine a world in which Severus was allowed to have a relationship with Harry instead of watching him from afar. A world where the young man had never fallen, perhaps. A world where the war was not already bearing down on them, where death was not coming for Harry and Severus with the inevitability of the Hogwarts Express. It was a kinder world, a happier world, but it was not the world that they inhabited. No matter how Albus sought to change their fates, the war would have its casualties, and so Albus would need to have his spy.

“You disgust me,” Albus muttered to himself. He hoped, almost prayed, that Severus would understand when the time came.


End file.
